


Lacquer

by marblecats (kitthefox)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Nail Polish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29899071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitthefox/pseuds/marblecats
Summary: "Perhaps it means more than it should but it's part of him now, a physical part of his identity that he refuses to let go of. He feels put together when they're painted, and only half dressed when they're not."
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	Lacquer

**Author's Note:**

> This has been floating around my drafts folder for the longest time, I gave up on it because I didn't think anyone would care about my nail polish feelings.
> 
> I was convinced otherwise and spent a couple of hours tidying this up, if it's garbage it's not my fault...
> 
> <3

_Back then…_

"Richard!" Till's voice snaps through his thoughts and he tears his gaze away from the shelf in front of him to see Till standing there, looking amused. "What are you doing?" 

Richard's attention drifts back to what he was looking at, Till follows him curiously. "Nail polish?" He asks, there's no judgement in those two words, he's just asking a question. That's what he likes most about Till, he only ever wants to know for curiosity's sake and never to mock. "You want one?" He has moved to stand closer now, almost shoulder to shoulder with Richard and studies the row of colours with him.

A deep breath and a shake of his head, even though he does want. He worries, if it's too much and too feminine for a Schwerin boy in a noisy band. Till looks sideways at him.

"Well come on then, we're going to be late." 

Till nudges him gently. Richard reluctantly turns to head for the door of the shop and out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of movement, his stomach twists. 

Twenty minutes later when they're safely out of the store and away from any prying eyes, Till presses a cold, glass bottle into his hands. He doesn't say anything but he has a little grin on his face. He winks at him, it's conspiratorial rather than mocking, then he's gone. He's off to talk to someone else and leaves Richard to slowly open his clenched fist and look. 

It's silver. He loves it.

_2019..._

He slips into Richard's hotel room, like he used to do, almost too long ago now. Sometimes Richard wonders if he's done something wrong, or if Till has simply grown tired of him and moved on, regardless of how heartfelt his contribution to _their song_ was. And really, that's what has stung the most, Till choosing to so publically love him like that, and then closing off again as soon as recording was done. But here he is shutting the hotel room door behind him ever so gently. Richard closes his book, sits up a little straighter in his bed, Till never does this anymore, something must be wrong. 

He hovers as though unsure what to do now that he's here, so Richard pats his bed and feels awkward whilst doing it. It seems to have been the right gesture though, as Till breathes out and suddenly remembers how to move. He sits himself down on the very end of Richard's bed and looks down at his hands. He's wearing a black sweatshirt and some soft looking joggers, he's also barefoot Richard notices, and wants to chastise him for walking all the way here like that. 

Richard shifts uncomfortably as the silence wears on and becomes oppressive. It never used to be like this, they could talk for hours so easily without ever really trying. They would lose entire nights to trading stories and laughing at themselves, always waking up sharing warmth in the same bed. Till looks up at him, at the rustling of bed sheets, he looks sad. Richard still knows him well enough to tell the difference between his general sad puppy face, and when he's actually upset. And he seems to be genuinely upset. Richard frowns. 

"What's wrong?" He says, getting to the crux of the matter straight away. No point idling on small talk, Till is still his oldest friend after all. 

Till doesn't speak, his eyes dart around, appearing to be looking for something though Richard doesn't know what. The silence starts to become unbearable again, but just as Richard is about to say something, _anything,_ Till takes him completely by surprise and grasps his hand. 

Richard's heart absolutely does not flutter when Till's warm hands curl around his, his feelings are now way beyond a silly crush and have been for years. Love lodged itself in some dark and familiar corner of his heart a long time ago; it's a friendship almost as old as his friendship with the man himself.

He watches as Till turns his hand over and runs a thumb over his fingernails. Richard's mouth twists, his nails are chipped and flaking and he can't quite bring himself to care about it at the moment. There's always something else that needs doing, someone will need him, and his nails fall by the wayside. 

"You're not looking after yourself." Till mumbles, almost a whisper. Richard feels himself scowling as though it's a personal attack, like Till has room to talk. 

"Hypocrite." Richard retorts before he can stop himself, he doesn't pull his hand away though, he isn't that angry yet. 

The hurt that flashes across Till's face is a genuine surprise to him and Richard softens immediately, turning his hand and squeezing Till's fingers in an unspoken apology. This feels familiar, communicating without saying anything, with a look or a touch. To his further surprise, Till moves his own hand just so, and suddenly they're just holding hands. Till's thumb still strokes across the back of his fingers as Richard stares down, unable to look away from such a tender gesture. 

It's quiet, apart from their breathing and the soft whisper of skin on skin, until Till shifts in place. His stupid pink hair looks freshly washed and unruly as it falls forward over his eyes. Richard is struck with the desire to push it back but restrains himself. Till is still holding onto his hand, he doesn't want him to stop. 

He doesn't know how long they sit together like that, but eventually the moment does end, as all things must. Till takes his hands away and reaches into his pocket. Richard hears the familiar click of glass on glass even before Till holds his hand out palm up, revealing a bottle of black and a bottle of red nail polish. 

Richard does look up at his face then, he looks less sad, but still guarded as though expecting rejection. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards when he meets Richard's eyes though and Richard feels himself do the same. The tension in the room disperses like hot breath in cold air and Richard grins broadly at his ridiculous friend.

"Are we having a sleepover?" He asks and shifts himself over on the bed to make space for Till against the headboard. He props the pillows up and pats the space invitingly. 

Till lets himself grin back then, and crawls over to sit next to Richard. The sight of him on his hands and knees in Richard's bed briefly doing warm things to Richard's belly. "You can braid my hair if you want." Till offers, sounding amused as he settles down next to Richard. He puts his nail polish bottles down on the bed between them and looks over at him.

"Have you got stuff to remove that with?" He gestures to Richard's hands and reaches for the one closest to him again.

Richard stares, a little taken aback. "You're being serious?"

Till huffs somewhat impatiently and begins to knead Richard's hand gently, it seems instinctive like he doesn't even realise he's doing it. "I didn't stand in front of thirty five slightly different shades of red for almost an hour trying to match one of them to a photo of your hands to not be serious right now, Richard." 

It's an admission that knocks Richard entirely off kilter, the idea of Till specifically seeking out the right shade making him a little light headed. He glances down at the bottles. "What did you settle on?" 

Till picks up the red and shows him the shade name. It's not the right one, but it's close enough and it's the right brand and Till looks so adorably hopeful that Richard can't bring himself to tell him otherwise. "I like that one." He says instead, Till's shoulders drop anyway.

"Wrong one?" He asks, sounding glum. Richard smiles and fights back an urge to pat him comfortingly.

"It's close enough, Till. What about the black?"

Till looks panicked. "Black is black right? I just picked up the first one I saw."

Richard decides that now is not the time to explain how incredibly wrong that statement is and merely picks up the bottle to inspect the shade name. Somehow Till has picked up the right one and he breathes out, he's been doing this for too long to suffer through terrible black nail polish. 

"Wait there." He instructs, and rolls himself out of the bed after gently pulling his hand from Till's grip. His nail polish remover and cotton wool lie forgotten in his suitcase, it feels as though it's been so long since he actually sat down and did his nails properly and it puts a strange ache in his chest. 

He turns back to the bed to find Till studying the red nail polish with an accusatory look on his face, as though he finds it to be at fault for all the world's problems. "Don't you have your favourite one around somewhere? You don't have to humour me." He says, glancing up at Richard. 

"I'm using that one." Richard says firmly as he sits back down on the bed. He doesn't add that this is now his new favourite one simply because Till bought it for him. Or at least, he thinks he bought it, memories of that very first stolen silver float through his mind and he smiles, unbidden. 

"What?" Till asks suspiciously, as he watches Richard begin to wipe away the old, chipped paint. "What are you smiling at?" 

What does he say to that? He's smiling because one of his most treasured memories is of Till stealing something for him because he wasn't brave enough to get it for himself? Or because Till is here with him now, not avoiding him and actually sitting still in one place for longer than ten minutes at a time? Or perhaps because he's actually allowing himself time to do something that means a great deal to him despite the late hour? Perhaps it means more than it should but it's part of him now, a physical part of his identity that he refuses to let go of. He feels put together when they're painted, and only half dressed when they're not.

"Richard?" Till prompts, dragging him out of his contemplation. He's been operating on autopilot and when he glances down his hands look strange and unfinished. Like a sketch waiting to be fleshed out. Till's still watching him passively, just observing him, quiet and studious. 

"I'm smiling at you, idiot." Richard decides to say. If it was anyone else, he'd call the expression that takes over Till's features _smitten_ but it's Till so he doesn't. He doesn't quite have the bravery to scratch at that particular itch right now. Instead he picks up the bottle of red and shakes it, the mixing ball rattles satisfyingly within. Till decides to move then, as though the noise had woken him up and he takes the bottle from him.

"Let me." He says and it's so soft and imploring that Richard's heart melts just a little. He swallows around a lump that has formed from nowhere in his throat and nods just the once. Till beams at him, happier than he's looked in days.

Richard feels like he's having an out of body experience as he watches his hands in Till's lap, as Till carefully paints the tiny brush across his nails. It looks ridiculous in his large hands and he shakes just a little the harder he tries to do it neatly. Richard looks over at his face and sees that he's concentrating in a way he only usually associates with him when he's gotten really into his writing. It's impossibly endearing to see his brow furrowed and his tongue sticking out slightly. He reminds Richard faintly of a child creating some masterpiece with crayon.

Although, Richard has to admit, that seems uncharitable. He's isn't doing too badly at it, despite the shakiness of his hand. He draws the brush across the rim of the bottle in Richard's other hand to remove excess nail polish so it doesn't go everywhere. Then there is a little push of the brush down towards the cuticle, a swipe up to the nail tip, back down to the start and a swipe up each side. He does get the slightest of smudges on Richard's skin, but that's okay.

"You're surprisingly good at this." Richard says quietly, not wanting to ruin the spell of the moment too much.

Till smiles a lop-sided smile. "Well I have daughters." He pauses as though considering his words. "And I've seen you do this enough times." He says it casually, as though he hasn't just knocked Richard even further off balance. 

He leaves Richard's ring finger unpainted and says he's seen it on instagram when Richard questions him on it. 

Richard very much doubts that, he's seen Till's instagram. He decides not to call him on it though, he feels like it would be mean and he doesn't want to ruin the cosy atmosphere they've created. It's far too nice and far too intimate for his hand to be cradled in Till's large, warm paws and having him paint his nails for heaven's sake. The part of Richard that he thought he had beaten into submission begins to wake up, the part of him that is deeply, irrevocably in love with his best friend. The part of him that wants to go to sleep with him, wake up with him and everything else besides. 

"Rich?" Till says quietly. "Swap hands." 

Richard does so, offering his other hand to Till who once again starts his painting ritual with the black this time. It's been a long time since Richard has been taken care of like this and he swallows again around the stubborn lump in his throat. The fact that it's Till of all people doing this for him threatens to be his complete undoing. 

After the second coat of black, and the filling in of the ring fingers with the opposing colour, Till sits back to admire his handiwork. He holds each of Richard's hands delicately in his own, thumbs caressing knuckles reverently.

"I do love you, Richard." Till mumbles, looking down, and resolutely avoiding any eye contact. Richard's breath hitches, of all the things Till could have said, he hadn't expected to hear him say that. 

The smell of varnish is thick in the air, Richard swallows around it, it stings his eyes. Or maybe that's unshed tears forming from the overwhelming feeling building in his chest. His cheeks are wet, he notices, definitely the tears. Till looks distraught. 

"I didn't mean to upset you." He says desperately. His arms are held out in a placating gesture, it's meant to be defensive but it just looks inviting. Richard takes a breath and lets himself fall. 

Till catches him and holds him tight, strokes his hair and tells him it's okay now, he's there with him, he always will be. He tells him that he's sorry for putting distance between them but everything had just become too intense and scary and all he wanted to do was talk to his best friend about it but couldn't bring himself to do so. Richard smiles into Till's shirt, now damp from his crying. 

"First you paint my nails, then you call me your best friend out loud...this really is a sleepover." He sniffs, wiping at his nose with the back of his wrist.

Till's answering laugh sounds deep and rumbling with Richard's ear pressed against his chest. "You can still braid my hair if you really want but don't tell the others." 

Richard pulls back and pretends to consider it, reaching up and twisting a pink strand around his finger, avoiding his not quite dry nails. He lets it go and watches it slowly uncurl against the shaved sides of Till's head. It feels like velvet when he runs his fingertips over it before curving over the shell of his ear and trailing down his neck. He feels Till shudder under his touch.

"Till?" He breathes, hardly daring to glance back up at the other man's face now that the atmosphere has suddenly changed. His wandering fingers somehow drawing the air in close around them.

"Richard?" Till replies, leaning into Richard's hand. His eyes are wide and gentle, waiting for whatever happens next.

"Can I kiss you?" Richard whispers as he boldly trails his fingertips over Till's jaw and across to his mouth. The red of his nails clashes with the soft pink of Till's lips, they part as though on instinct when touched. 

It's all the encouragement Richard needs to lean in and press his mouth to Till's. He'd always sort of assumed that kissing him for the first time would be full of sparks or fireworks, but there is neither. He just feels a comforting sense of "oh, so this is what I was looking for." He feels Till's lips part further and the barest touch of a tongue against his. It's earth shattering and it's comfortable, it's the taste of the one person in the whole world who knows him so completely that he doesn't even need to try around him. 

It doesn't go any further than the gentlest of kisses, and he ends up between Till's arms, with his back to Till's chest. He's captured a hand in his own and is painting Till's nails with quiet care whilst the other man rests his chin on Richard's shoulder. It's a somewhat awkward angle but it's too sweet and intimate a feeling for him to complain about it. He perseveres and paints them all black, selfishly wanting to keep the red for himself. And anyway, all black suits Till's casual wardrobe quite well. 

"What do we do now?" Till asks when he's done and has put both bottles on the bedside table. Richard smiles and dares to lean back into his embrace.

"We wait for them to dry." He says and feels Till's answering frustrated inhale behind him. "It won't take that long, stop fussing."

Till responds by wrapping his arms across Richard's front and pulling him impossibly close. It's warm and comfortable and a far cry from the distressing distance that has lingered between them of late. On closer inspection he wonders why he ever doubted Till's love for him, with all the things he's done for him over the years. Belatedly he realises he never said it back.

"Till?" He whispers. "Love you too." 

~

When Richard wakes in the morning, he's lying on his side and his heart skips when he sees Till facing him on the other side of the bed, still sound asleep. Their hands are joined on the bed sheets between them and their matching slightly smudged manicures stand out against the white of the cotton. Till had been unable to keep completely still for long enough to let them fully dry, but it's alright, Richard doesn't mind. He squeezes Till's hand and gets a sleepy squeeze back, along with a wordless invitation to slip back into waiting arms. They curl together, hands still joined, and drift back to sleep for a little while longer.

~


End file.
